The End Game

by Kate McCarthy

  I clear my throat. “Why is everyone calling you Brody?”

  He pauses for a beat. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, and I know I’m not the only one affected. There’s attraction between us, hot and intense, but I ignore it because I feel like I’ve been played. “That’s my name. Brody Madden.”

  “I see,” I reply, when I don’t really see at all. I sink to the edge of the bed behind me because my legs are jelly. “Brody Madden,” I repeat, more to myself than anything.

  I look up. He’s shifted closer—too close. His deep brown eyes are wary, his shoulders and chest powerful, like glory and golden fire as they flex beneath the muscle tee shirt he wears. His calves are honed, hips slender, and his stance tense. He’s number twenty-two. Wide receiver. Football royalty. And Jaxon’s cousin, which makes Professor Draper his uncle. “You play football,” I say in the silence.

  Kyle … no, Brody, folds his arms. “Yes.”

  “Oh my god!” I bite out at the confirmation. “You said we were dating! Why would you do that?”

  “Because you were about to tell the whole world you’re my tutor!” he replies hotly. “I had to say something. I was holding your hand dammit. It was the first thing that came to mind.”

  “I was not about to tell the world!” I yell defensively, shooting to my feet. “I was about to … Oh shit, I was.” I sink back to the edge of the bed, blaming the chugged beer and tequila shots for my unsteady legs. I place a hand on my forehead. It’s hot and clammy. “I don’t understand. Professor Draper said I was tutoring Kyle Davis.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. Kyle Davis is his TA.”

  “Well why would he …” My mind flashes back to my meeting with the professor and there’s a light-bulb moment. “Oh.”

  “Oh?”

  “He didn’t actually give me your name,” I admit. “He handed me your information but it got caught up with other papers from his desk. I must have picked up the wrong sheet.”

  Brody begins pacing in front of me, and it makes the room spin. He shoots me a hooded glower, his tongue snaking out to lick along his lush bottom lip. My eyes follow its path.

  “This whole tutoring thing is a bad idea.”

  “I agree completely,” I reply, my heart beating hard and fast. I drag my gaze from his mouth and the effort leaves me dizzy. “But you know what’s worse?”

  He halts his pacing and pins me with his eyes. “What?”

  “Failing.”

  His jaw ticks as he stands there staring down at me, tension thick in the air. “I’m not going to fail.”

  “Of course not. What would your professor know?” I snap, standing with a sudden surge of irritation. “If football’s everything to you, you can’t afford to fail.”

  Done with this conversation, I make for the door. Twisting the knob, I shove it open and blinding light streams in. I turn back. “But I guess you already know that.”

  It was meant to be a parting shot, but I don’t make it out the door.

  Brody’s hand grips my shoulder, and I’m pulled back inside the room. He closes the door behind us and nudges my back up against it. He pins me in place with his hips, both hands planting flat on the door above my shoulders. His movements aren’t rough, but they’re forceful, and air leaves my lungs in a rush.

  “You can’t go out there.”

  “Newsflash, Brody. That’s the exit. You expect me to go out the window?”

  “Everyone thinks we’re in here together.”

  “We are in here together.”

  He clears the matter up. “Having sex.”

  “Well that’s just bloody awesome, isn’t it?” I push back against him, and it brings us flush together, our bodies aligning seamlessly. “We’re not having sex, and we’re not dating.”

  “Stop it,” he groans and grinds his hips into me.

  I freeze. “Are you … humping me?”

  “Of course not,” Brody says and turns his head into my neck. I hear him exhale, long and ragged, his breath ghosting along my bare shoulder. My hands shake and I fist them so he doesn’t see how affected I am. “Just … wait a minute.”

  “For what?” I whip out, anxious to leave. “The Tardis to magically appear and deliver me home?”

  His lips twitch, but when I wriggle against him a guttural sound escapes his throat. His hips jerk forward, the bulge in his pants now a hard, throbbing pulse against my belly.

  My body stills, the feel of him against me forcing an internal battle of need. “So help me, Brody, if you don’t get off me right this instant I’m going to … to …” Dammit, I can’t think. I can’t deliver threats when he’s pressed so close, his skin damp from the heat of the room and smelling of soap.

  Brody’s chuckle is low and breathy. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m your tutor,” I hiss.

  After a pause, his hands slip from the door behind me and he steps back, the moonlight leaving shadows on his face. “You’re right,” he says, and I breathe through the disappointment because I rather wish I wasn’t.

  “And you need to go back downstairs and clear up the whole farce about us dating,” I tell him.

  Brody cocks his head, dragging his bottom lip inside his mouth. He’s contemplating me like I’m an algebra problem he needs to solve. “Is it so bad to have everyone think we’re dating?”

  I raise my brows.

  “Tutor me like the professor wants. He’s right, Jordan. You both are. I can’t afford to fail, and it’s possible I might,” he says, looking away, and I know the admission is difficult. “I’m lucky I made it this far to be honest. I don’t know if there’s anything you can do that will help, but I guess I’m willing to try. And us dating will be a good cover for the study time we spend together.”

  “Seriously? No. The very idea is ridiculous. I’m not—”

  His eyes narrow as he cuts me off. “Unless you’re already dating someone?”

  “I’m not dating anyone, but I don’t plan to either.”

  “Good, then it’s settled.”

  “It’s not settled.” I shake my head, but inside I’m wavering. My brother had been the same way. Frustrating, stubborn … vulnerable. It’s hard to admit when you need help, and Brody doesn’t have the luxury of time on his side. This is senior year. Do or die. No second chances.

  “Football is everything to me, Jordan.” He breathes in deep through his nose, letting it out as he meets my gaze. His expression is somber, fear lurking in his eyes. “I can’t risk losing it.”

  “Fine!” I heave a frustrated sigh, knowing I’ll regret this decision when the haze of alcohol wears off. “I’ll do it your way.”

  Brody’s lips curve.

  “On one condition,” I add.

  The smile falls and resignation weights his voice. “What do you want?”

  Your shirt, I think reflexively. I want it off. I want to tutor you without your shirt.

  What am I thinking?

  God, but whatever I’m getting myself into is not going to be good. I close my eyes and drag in a lungful of air. When I open them Brody is watching me, his expression now unreadable. “I want you to stop calling yourself stupid. Being dyslexic doesn’t affect how smart you are, it affects your ability to learn. You just need more time.”

  Brody huffs sharply, frustrated. “I don’t have time.”

  “I know,” I reply simply. “That’s why you have me.”

  Brody

  “Do I?”

  Do I have you?

  Because damn, there’s want inside me, crowding out every other emotion, like sense and self-preservation.

  My heart bangs in my chest and it won’t slow down. I tell myself it’s because it’s been too long. Celibacy isn’t natural. My dick is craving hot, wet friction, not this abnormal prison I’ve sentenced it to. But deep down inside, something is different. Jordan is smart. Determined and talented. Real. With the same drive to succeed that I have. I’m responding to all that on some fundamental level that I can�
��t begin to acknowledge.

  “Yes. As your tutor.” Jordan licks her lips. She’s read the innuendo in my tone and it’s unnerved her.

  I take a deep breath, inhaling her vanilla scent. It must be her shampoo because I can smell it in her hair. God, it’s good.

  “As my tutor,” I reiterate.

  “Okay then.” She gives a nod and reaches behind her back. “I need to get back to my friends.” Twisting the handle, the door opens and she’s through it before I can explain she can’t just leave like that. She’s throwing herself to the wolves. I don’t date. I never have. My relationship-free status is common knowledge. There’s going to be gossip and bitchy speculation, and she needs to know how to handle it.

  “Jordan, wait!” I call out.

  But it’s too late. She’s already reached the bottom of the stairs where her friends are waiting. I’ve met Hayden a few times. He’s one of the good guys, and I know he and Leah have been tight since high school. We’ve always acknowledged each other on campus and had a mutual beer once or twice at parties, but now his eyes are tracking me down the stairs, his brow furrowed in a suspicious glower.

  It deepens when I come up behind Jordan. She gives a quiet little squeak when I take hold of her hips, tugging her close so her back aligns with my chest. It’s a proprietary gesture and speaks volumes.

  I give him a nod. “Hayden Crosby.”

  “Brody Madden.” His voice is cooler than I’ve ever heard it. “You remember Leah?”

  My gaze shifts to his girlfriend. I register her same suspicious glower and offer a guileless grin. “You play soccer like Jordan, right?”

  Some of the tension leaves her shoulders. “I play fullback, but Jordan,” Leah replies with a nod at her friend, “is our superstar forward.”

  Of course she is. I’m getting the impression that Jordan Elliott is fast becoming Colton Park University’s shiny new diamond, complete with an all-around good girl reputation to back it up. How far will I have to dig to reach the wicked layers that lie beneath? I’ve seen glimpses so I know they’re there.

  “And new to the team,” I say to Leah, interrupting a conversation between her and Jordan that appears to involve nothing but facial expressions. “You always haze your teammates with chocolate syrup?”

  The silent communication stops and Jordan groans. It vibrates through my chest and makes me want to rub against her. Before I embarrass myself by doing just that, I drop my hold and move to her side, yet I still find myself taking hold of her hand like a ship needing an anchor point. Her palm is small and damp, betraying her discomfort. Is it the situation that unnerves her, or me?

  “I’m sure it’s nothing on what you do to your new teammates, Brody,” Leah retorts, and even though she’s holding a cup of beer, her eyes are sharp on mine and Jordan’s physical connection.

  “We don’t haze our teammates. It’s a completely demoralizing and uncivilized activity.” I manage to say that with a straight face until Hayden snorts loudly and we both laugh.

  A quick glance at my watch shows it’s getting late. We have an away game tomorrow, and I need to be up early, sharp and fresh. I give Jordan’s hand a squeeze to get her attention. Our eyes meet and I’m struck anew at their clarity. “Ready to leave?”

  “Leave?”

  “I’ve got an early start tomorrow. I’d like to see you home first.”

  Jordan jolts with surprise. Has she forgotten our dating arrangement entirely? There are girls who would jump at a chance like this, even if it’s just a pretense, so her reluctance is a blow to my ego.

  “Yes, Jordan. You should let Brody see you home,” Leah adds.

  Jordan’s eyes narrow at her friend’s interference. “Actually, I think I’m just going to walk home in a little bit. It’s nice out and it’s not far.” She smiles at me, polite and a little frosty. Jordan doesn’t like being pushed. “Don’t let me keep you from leaving.”

  I lean in until my lips brush her ear, pushing through the distance she’s trying to create. She shivers and it takes considerable restraint not to tongue her lobe and take it in my mouth.

  “Is this how you treat the guys you date? Because you need to work on that or no one’s going to believe you’re hot for me at all.”

  “And what am I supposed to do,” she hisses back. “Stick my tongue down your throat in front of everyone?”

  Hell yes. I want to sit up and beg for those luscious lips. Instead, I shrug like it’s neither here nor there. “If you think it will help.”

  “We need some rules,” she mutters.

  Jordan is talking about drawing lines in the sand that I’m not allowed to cross. It sounds smart in theory, but I don’t like idea. “Let me drive you home and we can talk about it.”

  I manage to extract her from her friends, but we don’t get five steps before I’m bailed up by my teammate. Jordan comes to a stop beside me, her shoulder brushing mine because the room is a crush of people.

  “What happened to my tequila shots, bro?” Carter looks at me, his expression wounded and legs unsteady. It’s not like our star quarterback to drink the night before a game, but his on again/off again relationship is on a slippery slope and it’s fucking with his head.

  “I had them in my hands but there was a pretty girl in desperate need,” I say, reminded of how Jordan had slammed them back with impressive speed. “What was I to do?”

  Carter’s eyes fall on Jordan and that quickly, I want to gouge them from his head. They leer and then widen when they trail over her legs. Slim, toned, endless. He’s taking it all in like he needs to ace a test on it later. They’re my fucking legs, I itch to tell him. Go find your own. But this isn’t the schoolyard and last I checked, I wasn’t ten years old and guarding a shiny new toy.

  “I can see your dilemma,” he says and drags his eyes away and back to mine. “Early night for you then, huh, bro?”

  “You know it,” I say before thinking the words through.

  Jordan tenses beside me.

  “Dude.” Carter fist bumps me. “Score.”

  When we finally make it outside, she rips off her lei and tosses it angrily away. It floats carelessly in the air before fluttering to the ground without a sound. All the while she’s stalking along the front path ahead of me, her long-legged stride eating up the distance quickly. I jog to catch up and she halts, spinning back around to glare at me. I almost duck from the sparks shooting from her eyes.

  “Score?” she says. Then shouts it a second time. “Score?”

  “Jordan—”

  “Just what does dating mean to you? A regular girl on your arm to fuck? I didn’t sign on for this to earn the reputation of a whore, Brody! That’s not who I am. I’m a—”

  “A good girl,” I snap. “I get it.”

  Jordan flinches and takes a step back.

  “Jordan,” I say, my tone a little more appeasing this time.

  She shakes her head and turns back around, muttering something as she continues her way down the front path.

  I tug the car keys from my pocket and start after her.

  “Madden!”

  Damn it all!

  I’ve made a mess of things and need to clean it up, but Jordan’s making a rapid escape, and Jax is now jogging toward me, resentment clear in his expression. I’m not in the mood for it.

  “What now?” I growl at him, stopping.

  “What the hell, man? You’re dating Jordan Elliott?”

  “Yes. And I don’t have time right now to soothe your ruffled feathers.”

  Deciding it will be quicker to get the car first and catch up to Jordan, I head toward it quickly, beeping the locks. When I get inside, revving the engine, the passenger door flies open. Jaxon climbs up inside, slamming it shut a second before I spin the wheels in a quick U-turn on the street.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Christ,” I bite out, jabbing at the clutch with my foot as I shift gears. “Why does everyone care so much?”

  “I’m
not everyone. I’m your cousin, and I told you I planned on hooking up with her.”

  Jordan’s already at the end of the street when I catch sight of her. “Well you’re too late,” I mutter because that’s all I’ve got right now.

  “You’re such an asshole, Brody. King of fucking campus. You just swoop in and take what you want and damn everyone else.”

  I glance across at Jaxon, surprised at the tirade that’s come from nowhere. He’s not just irritated, he’s hurt. No girl has ever meant more to my cousin then just a casual roll in the sheets.

  “You really liked her.”

  “No. I really like her. So watch your back, cousin. A couple of weeks with you and she might just decide you’re not worth it.”

  Jaxon’s words wrench at me like a bad stomach cramp. Like he intended them to. But I don’t think he knows just how close, or how hard, they hit home.

  I shove it down and jam my foot on the brakes. The SUV screeches to a halt beside Jordan. She’s reached the end of the sidewalk on the corner and about to cross the street. My cousin is out of the car before I even open the door.

  I jog around the side in time to hear him say, “Not looking for anything with anyone, huh? I thought you were different, but you’re just like every other girl on campus,” he says with a sneer. “Holding out for a piece of Brody big fucking deal Madden.”

  My hands curl into fists. He has no right to be angry with Jordan. And does he really think of me that way? That I think myself better than everyone else? Because he has it all twisted around the wrong way.

  “It’s not like that, Jax,” Jordan says to him, her cheeks flushed and sandals dangling from her hands. I know she wants to tell him about the mix-up, that she thought I was someone else and we’re not really dating at all, but she holds it in. She’s doing this for me when I’ve done nothing to deserve her loyalty.

  “That’s Jaxon to you. We’re not friends after all.”

  “Jax,” I snap. He’s being a dick because he’s had too much to drink, and I’m over it. “Get lost.”

  He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m already gone.”